


Half Susceptible

by allegoricalrose (SilentStars)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s02e05 Rise of the Cybermen, F/M, Femdom, Light Bondage, Missing Scene, Smut, Tuxedos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentStars/pseuds/allegoricalrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten/Rose: At some level, she knew this was always going to happen. Maybe not in a catering van in a parallel universe but who can predict when they'll finally snap? Set during Rise of the Cybermen, PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Susceptible

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Rise of the Cybermen, mild bondage/dominance themes. Spoiler-free trigger/content warnings [here](http://allegoricalrose.tumblr.com/post/130591486534/fic-content-warning-spoilers).

She feels bad about slagging off Lucy right away but the jealousy doesn’t abate. It _really_ doesn’t help that he’d been bragging about snogging Madame de bloody Pompadour just the other day (again, not the woman’s fault. There’s a common thread in all this and it isn’t a pink one). And then even her parallel mum and dad have replaced her with a stupid little dog and she’s had enough. 

With a surprisingly deft move, Rose deposits her tray on a nearby table and pilfers the Doctor’s as well. Glasses clink together but it’s all in the distance because she’s grabbed a tuxedoed elbow and is dragging the attached alien out a side door and into the relief of the cooling evening. 

“Rose, what..? You’re not seriously that upset about a dog are—”

“Shut it,” she says, continuing to lead him into the night without a backward glance. 

“Are we done here, then? Back to the TARDIS?” He looks so hopeful and she feels even more angry. Not angry, exactly. Overwrought. Strung out. Tight as a…tight wire. 

“Nope.”

“Roooose,” he whines as she keeps moving. He doesn’t especially like not being in the loop. Too bad.

She doesn’t like it either.

Party guests are everywhere but she spies the catering van they’d gotten their uniforms from tucked into a side yard and makes a beeline for it. He grumbles when she jerks her hand out from around his arm and stomps off to sit in the driver’s seat. 

He doesn’t move, watching her. “Rose?”

“Get in.”

The Doctor swallows and then settles into the passenger side. It’s quiet but extremely noisy in fidgety movements. 

He tries again after a minute. “Rose?”

“Take off your bowtie.”

“What? Why?”

Rose doesn’t deign him a reply, just continues to regard him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but alright. If it will make you feel better. Not a fan of bowties? Not cool enough? Duly noted. Although—” He prattles on while loosening the knot but she’s had enough of inane chatter from him.

“What do you want from me?” she asks between gritted teeth.

“What?” His eyes are wide; the bow tie is hanging loose now and she whips it out from around his neck and wraps it around her hand like she’s readying for a boxing match.

“Don’t play daft. What do you want?”

He backs up against the can door, his eyes on his submissive bowtie and his breath hitching. “I…where is this coming from? I don’t understand what…” His words trail off but the blanching of his cheeks leaves her in no doubt he knows exactly what she’s asking. “Shouldn’t we get back to the party? Or the TARDIS? Mickey! We should find Mickey!”

“I want more. What do you want?” It’s heady, bringing all this subtext to the surface at once, speaking her mind without dancing around all the questions. Terrifying too, but there’s white-hot power in there and it’s buffering the fear.

“I…” The Doctor gulps and chances a glance at her. She stares right back, unwavering. 

She waits.

“I don’t…I…Rose, what we need is—”

“What do you want? From. Me.” she repeats, her eyes boring into his. He tries to look away but he can’t seem to break her gaze. 

“You. Just…you.” It’s barely audible when his reply finally comes, half question and half under-the-breath admission, but it’s there and it’s the right answer. 

“Good. Give me your jacket.”

He blinks at her but immediately complies, sliding his arms out of the sleeves and handing it to her like she’s a ticking time bomb. 

Ugh, it smells so good; he’s only had the damn thing on for less than an hour, how does it smell so warm and spicy already? His scent is almost a distraction from her end game. Almost.

Donning the jacket like a pelt, she fixes her gaze on the twitchy Time Lord again. 

“Unbutton your shirt.” Her voice is hardly shaky but she notices her hands are and she quickly hides them in his long sleeves. 

“What?” he squeaks.

“Do I really need to repeat myself, Doctor?” she questions with a tilt of her head. 

His nostrils flare as he cottons onto what she wants, his eyes dilating further even in the nighttime darkness. 

Took the self-proclaimed genius long enough. 

The prodigy appears to be frozen in place however, so she takes a pity. Not much, admittedly, because her solution shocks the befuddled man even further. She wonders if he’s more terrified about the fact that she climbed over the gear stick to straddle him or that she’s beginning to unbutton his shirt herself.

Leaning forward, fingers clasping his top button, she hovers her lips just beside his ear. “This okay?” she asks softly. 

His nod is so forceful and instantaneous that his temple collides with her nose. “Shit!” Her vision goes white for a second but then it’s back and it’s not that painful, really. Not in the grand scheme of things, namely the Doctor’s lap between her legs. He’s trying to maneuver her to where he can see what’s wrong but she’s quicker, swiping at her nose to make sure it’s not bleeding (thank _god_ it’s not) and then capturing his earlobe between her teeth. 

He lets out an expletive of his own, throwing his head back against the headrest as she sucks the soft flesh into her mouth and toys with it while resuming unbuttoning him. Abdominal muscles tense under her touch, quivering more with each button she frees. 

Sitting back once she reaches the top of his trousers, she tugs the rest of the shirt out from where it’s tucked and spreads it open. His neck cranes down as he strains to watch her, his eyes fixed on her fingers as she runs her nails lightly up his taut stomach and between his hearts. 

If she doesn’t already suspect from the flush across his chest and the glazed expression in his eyes, she’s pretty sure she sees tenting in his black trousers. And she knows just the way she wants to check for certain. 

A low rumble erupts from his throat as she scoots forward and drops her weight into the cradle of his thighs, rolling her hips so that—oh, yeah, just there. Mmm. 

It’s nice to be right. 

The Doctor’s eyes snap shut and his jaw clenches with the force of his effort not to thrust back against her. She rocks against him again; she wants him to break. Sadly, he holds it together with the aid of deep breaths and what appears to be a noiseless recitation of something. 

She rises to her knees and smirks he thrusts frantically at the space in between their bodies for a second.  It takes him a moment to process his body’s betrayal but she knows the instant the electricity along his nerve endings make it up to his brain because he opens his eyes and wordlessly pleads with her. For what, she’s not sure either of them know. 

“Kiss me,” she orders instead. 

It’s not just his stomach muscles that are clenched now; his entire body is one torque turn away from snapping. And he’s not alone; time itself feels strained at the edges, not to mention the rubber band beginning to stretch between her legs and up the base of her spine. 

He continues to observe her with wide eyes, every breath tracked as it comes into her lungs, as it’s pushed out her throat, as it turns white in the cold, as it mingles with his. The windows of the van are steaming up and his eyes follow as she flicks her gaze over at them. 

“Please, Doctor.” And her ownplea comes out in words, weak and apprehensive. “ _Please_ , just…kiss me. Be with me.” 

The first thing she feels isn’t his mouth: it’s his fingers gripping her hips, pulling her down onto his lap again. 

Then it’s his mouth. 

And then his tongue, sweeping along the seam of her lips. 

He doesn’t go any further than that though, nibbling on her lower lip over and over, tilting his head to chase some angle that will bring her closer. Inching further forward in his lap, she steadies herself with a hand on his shoulder while her other tangles in his hair. He tastes warm and that’s just about the only descriptor her otherwise occupied brain will bother pulling up. 

As their lips begin to syncopate into a natural rhythm, she remembers that he’s bare chested and slips a hand down from his now-wild hair to burrow in the heat of his skin, skating along his ribs and coming to rest on the slight dip of his waist.  

Her hands stay inside his unbuttoned shirt when she pulls away, smiling against his lips when he follows her. She moves to her knees again, ducking her head so she doesn’t bump it against the ceiling of the van, but he pulls her down again so he can continue kissing her. Her smile turns mischievous as she lets him, but only to distract him enough that she can grasp his hands in hers and pull them upward. He assumes she’s moving them to encircle her neck so he’s plaint, nipping at her mouth like she holds some nourishment he’s deficient in, and hardly notices when she keeps raising them until they’re level with the head rest. 

And just as she opens her mouth and invites his tongue inside, she unravels the bowtie around her hand and knots it around his hands, effectively securing his hands down by looping the tie around the gap between the seat and headrest. 

It takes him longer than he’s probably proud of to realise what she’s done.

In fact, it’s not until she rises to her knees again that he catches on, struggling against his bonds to keep her on his lips. 

“Rose!” 

“You took too long to make a move,” she informs him, tongue poking out between her teeth. There’s no missing how his eyes stray to it longingly. “You lost any control you might have had.”

“Doubt there would have been much of that anyway,” he groans, testing her knots again. 

“You’re not wrong. I’m taking off your trousers now.”

The silken bowtie isn’t tied all that securely; he could escape if he put any real effort into it. She pauses before touching his waistband though, meeting his eye questioningly. He nods zealously, putting end to any remaining doubts. 

The button is undone and the zipper is lowered, slowly, tooth by tooth by tooth. Partially because he’s such fun to tease but mostly because of the massive erection pulsing under the fabric. He’s squirming under her light touch, trying to press himself into her palm but she keeps moving it back so that it’s only her fingers that are on his zipper. 

“Rose,” he whimpers, beads of sweat breaking across his forehead. His breath is becoming more and more ragged and _oh_ it feels good to wield this over him. She’s not exactly bitter about how long he kept them in stasis, neither moving forward or re-establishing boundaries, but there’s something to be said for regaining a little power for herself.

“Lift your hips,” she only replies, pulling both his pants and trousers off gingerly but maybe not as gingerly as he might have liked, judging by the noises sounding from his throat. Pulling both items of clothing down to his knees, she sits back and regards him intently.

He wriggles under the strength of her gaze, naked and incapacitated in front of her while she’s still fully dressed. 

“Rose, please,” he implores softly, “kiss me. Please.”

With a brush of her knuckles down his cheek, she leans in and grants his appeal, kissing him with reverence incongruent with how she’s laid him bare and trussed him up in the front seat of a caterer’s van.   

“I’ve wanted you for so long, wanted this…” He glances down then with a blush. “Well, maybe not exactly this, I can’t say _this_ was how I pictured it but this is good. This is great! Fantastic! Brillia—” She quiets him with a more full-on snog. 

“Me too,” she admits when she backs off for air. Somehow she’s dropped into his lap again (when did that happen?) and his cock brushes against the inside of her thighs, close but not close enough to where she’s throbbing for him. 

“I’ve never felt like this about—ah! Mmm, Rose!. I mean, you, I don’t know how to—oh, that’s…”

“I love you too,” Rose kindly supplies while ripping open a hole in the crotch of her tights.

“Ah, yes, I—bloody hell, Rose, you’re not wearing any knickers under there!”

“Tights _and_ knickers seemed redundant. Don’t you think?”

“I… I think you’re the genius here.”

“Quite right, too.” She grinds against him again but now she can feel his fluids mixing with her own wetness, his head sliding along her folds and brushing along her clit with every movement. He’s rocking up into her too but with the way his trousers are twisted around his knees and his bum is sunk into the slight dipping of the seat, he’s not getting a lot of leverage. 

She’s having maneuverability issues of her own, the gear stick poking into her thigh and the manual window crank jammed into the calf on her other leg. He’s also sunk down in the bucket seat and it’s difficult to lower herself far enough that she can take advantage of his entire length. 

That, at least she can solve; she spies a thin briefcase-like box with rounded edges between the seats and motions for him to lift his hips again so she can insert in under his arse. It doesn’t fix the various items jabbing into her legs but that she’ll just have to deal with: there’s no way either of them are waiting until they get to a bed.

She takes him in hand, stroking slowly from base to tip until his breathing turns shallow. 

“Rose, I can’t…”

“Shh.” She positions him at her entrance, his tip slipping inside with how slick she is for him. His eyes screw closed and she’s about to drop down when she freezes. His eyes fling open.

“What?” His voice is slightly frenzied. “What’s wrong?”

“Do we need a rubber?”

He puffs out air and nods. There’s self-recrimination in his eyes and she hates it. 

“I didn’t think about it either, it’s alright.” Rose bites her lip and curses every possible thing to curse. She begins looking around the van and trying to calculate whether she could possibly move her feet below so that she’d have enough room to crouch over him and take him in her mouth or maybe if she lay across the driver’s side…

“Actually, I…” He blushes and it shifts her attention back to him. 

“Yeah?”

“I have one. Um, in my pocket.”

She blinks at him. “What, in your catering uniform pocket?”

He drops his eyes. “Yeah.”

“How? Why?”

“I…put it in there. Transferred it from my suit pocket.”

“That just leaves why, then.” 

“You looked… In that dress, that uniform, I just wanted to pretend there was some possibility, some reason I might need... I’m sorry.”

Her jaw drops. “Are you saying you…fantasised about this? While we were changing?’

“Well, in my defense, you did ask me to zip you up. And it was a very long zipper, Rose!”

And this is the story of how Rose Tyler died, she thinks: a tied up and naked Time Lord between her thighs and her last thoughts the realisation that he’s been fantasising about her all along. And carries condoms around: _just in case_. 

“You like the dress, hmm?” She moves forward again and wraps her arms around his torso. “Have a bit of a kinky side, do you, Doctor?”

“No! Well.”

“Mmm. Which pocket?” She plants kisses in a line along his jaw and he relaxes his head back with a contented sigh. 

“Hmm?”

“Condom. Which pocket?”

“Oh. Um, left inside breast pocket.” His eyes dart down to her chest at that and glaze over, licking his lips without apparent awareness. 

After procuring the foil square she raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Dress on or off?”

His expression is not unlike when he was offered the chance of using the Skasis Paradigm to end the Time War. 

“On?”

“You dirty old alien,” she crows, a smile beaming across her face. “Really?”

He clears his throat; his ears are adorably pink. “Only in case someone comes. Preserve your dignity.”

“Uh huh. Can you just—yeah, thanks.”

“Like this? Or, oh...”  


 No, um, yeah, no that’s better.”

And just like that, despite the awkward prophylactic fumblings and lack of space, he’s rendered speechless again, jaw clenched and eyes back on her breasts. 

“You can…” She swiftly unties his hands, nodding toward her chest as she edges back into his lap again. Her invitation is declined in favour of a firm grip on her hips and tugging her more firmly over his cock. They both sigh and she leans her forehead to rest against his. “Ready?”

“Never and always,” he pants, his fingers digging in deeper. 

“Time Lords,” she huffs playfully. “Can’t you stick to one time metric?” 

A couple of adjustments and contortions and he’s pressing into her entrance. It’s been a long time, far too long, and he’s thicker than she might have guessed for being so skinny so she starts out slow, lowering herself centimeter by centimeter; there’s a formless cry breaking from his lips and she traps its vibrations in her open mouth. His kiss quickly turns needy as she sinks deeper and she cedes for a moment. But only a moment, because she’s tired of the slow path and she knows he is too. 

She relaxes her leg muscles and lets gravity take over.

It’s sudden and the Doctor cries out as he fills her completely; Rose probably keens out a curse but before it registers and before she’s had a chance to savour the feeling of him stretching her to her limits, he’s moving inside her. 

“Okay?” he gasps out, his hips thrusting noisily into her like he’s lost all control over his body. 

“Yes!”

“You’re…”

“Harder, oh fuck, just…”

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“ _Harder,_ ” she orders, slamming down against his upward thrusts. It’s not enough; she’s been too worked up for far too long and release is screaming toward her, just evading her grasp. 

And then all at once she’s at her breaking point, the peak of her stress-strain curve, and all the tension snaps away in an instant. Her internal muscles are fluttering around him and her vision is tunneled but somehow in the middle of it all she realises he’s still hard inside her. Almost, but not quite at his own maximal tensile strength. 

She stops moving, clamping her thighs around his hips and pressing down on his stomach to hold him in place. White spots dance around the periphery of her vision 

His eyes are wild and his breathing ragged; he bucks against her twice but manages to still his thrusts, closing his eyes and attempting to mobilise any straggling morsels of self-control. Why she’s stopped him, he doesn’t know, but she can see he’s determined to defer to her wishes whatever the reason.  It makes it harder to hold him hostage like this, especially given her newly-sated and boneless state, but she also knows they’re at a turning point and she wants to make sure it’s in the right direction. 

Another few moments are needed to recover, however, and she’s not quite there when he cranes his mouth up to kiss her gently while attempting to help her lift up off him. 

No, no, no - this isn’t what she wants at all; he’s watching her with eager-to-please eyes and all he wants is for her to be happy, whatever the personal cost, and he’s so vulnerable in this moment that it aches. 

Scrambling back to the vague plans she’s drafted, she squeezes her internal muscles around him. Hard. 

He yelps.

She winks and contracts them again.

He growls this time, finally releasing her hips and moving his hands up to cup a breast in each hand. “Rose,” he warns.

“We’re together, now,” she informs him. 

“Quite literally.” She clenches twice in quick succession and he curses. “Yes, yes. Together. Metaphorically, too.”

“You’re moving into my TARDIS bedroom. Yours is too dark and gloomy.” She starts rocking against him with short, little movements, barely allowing him to slip out of her at all. 

“Yes!” 

“I’m the only one you kiss, from now on.”

“But what if it’s an emerg—” Her walls grip and hold him tight while she raises herself up and slams herself back down onto him. “Okay, yes!” he squeaks. “Rassilon’s garter, Rose: your pubococcygeus muscles are _formidable_!” 

“Kegels,” she explains offhand, trying to suppress a bubble of laughter, “only form of action I get these days. But more importantly, ‘Rassilon’s garter’? What the hell are you going on about?”

“Time Lord…thing,” he grunts as her movements turn long and languid, lifting herself high enough that his tip nearly comes out on each stroke before filling herself to the hilt again. His fingers spread around the base of her breasts but he doesn’t move them any more than that; she gets the feeling he’s reaching cognitive overload. 

“Right, that’s another point. You’re going to tell me more about your past. Maybe not all at once,” she adds as his eyes widen, “but a little bit. You have to let me in.”

He shifts his gaze down to where they’re joined and then back up at her. “Alright.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely. She plants a kiss on his cheek and then returns to business.  “Next. You’re my boyfriend.” Crinkling her nose, she pauses. “That sounds weird. Partner? Significant other?”

“Other half?” he offers and she smiles.

“We’ll sleep on it. Together. In our bed.” 

He nods with a dopey grin that stretches across his entire face. 

“And _this_ —” Rose illustrates by dropping her hand down between them and cupping his balls, “—is happening frequently. At least nightly, for awhile.” His head flies back, throat exposed, and his breathing becomes strained.

“At least,” he pants out.

“Good.” She releases him and relocates his forgotten hands to her hips.  “Doctor?”

“Mmm?

“Now fuck me.”

Not one millisecond is wasted; he lifts her up and drives her down with abandon, hips surging forward to meet hers so forcefully she feels like she’s hopping on one of those bouncy kiddie balls, except that those toys never felt like _this_. He’s biting at her lips, tugging them into his mouth and sucking on them as if they’re a sweet he’s racing to be the first to dissolve.

She’s dissolving, alright; the fire she’d assumed would take too long to reignite for this round bursts into fiery flames and she presses two fingers down to her bundle of nerves, knuckles brushing against his cock with every thrust and making him spew forth a round of expletives she has to assume are in his native language. They could also be nonsense, for all she knows: unintelligible gibberish is   certainly tumbling out of her throat. 

He can’t concentrate enough to keep his hold on her lips so he drops his mouth to her neck, hot breaths coming quick and heavy against her skin. 

“Please say you’re close,” he gasps out, any vestiges of a rhythm in his movements disintegrating. 

“Close, just…”

“Rose, I can’t—” He doesn’t finish his forewarning and comes with a cry, abdominal muscles tensing as he empties himself. It’s warm and he seems to be producing copious amounts of it because she can feel the increased bulge inside her and it’s on that perception that she joins him on the other side.

If her first orgasm had been a release, this is something else altogether: buzzing and bubbly and white light. There’s a brief instant where she’s unselfed and his breaths are supplying her oxygen and their three hearts thrum in synchrony –and then she’s back and they’re separable again, but so much less than before. 

She collapses against his chest, leaving him inside her for the time being, and he falls back against the seat, wrapping his arms around her back. They breathe together until their respiration returns to a steady rate and the rush of blood in her ears subsides. Her throat is dry and a little sore; she must have yelled more than she’d thought. 

“Let’s stay here tonight. I don’t ever want to move,” she mumbles into his shoulder, eyes drifting closed.

“Who needs a TARDIS when you have a beat-up old catering van?” She’s never heard his voice so lazy, spent. It’s a welcome revelation.   

“Mmm.” She snuggles deeper into him and he lets out a sound like a contented cat, idly playing with the ends of her hair. The serenity only lasts a little longer unfortunately because the sweat between their bodies begins to cool and soon they’re shivering in the night air. With a sigh and a grimace, she disentangles herself from his embrace and sits up.  Edging backward on his knees, she lets him slip out of her, holding the base of the condom carefully to prevent spills since he’s long gone soft. 

Awkwardly crawling over the gear stick and back into the driver’s seat, she begins adjusting her tights and smoothing down her hair. She can’t help watching the Doctor slide off the condom and tie up the end, gaping at how much fluid is inside. 

He notices her staring and his cheeks pink. 

“That’s a lot of…”

“Er, yeah. Time Lords, we liked to increase the odds in our favour.”

“So this was how you guys had sex then? Like humans? Or is this something you’ve…um, picked up along the way?”

“You humans do things much the same we did,” he says softly, tucking the ballooned rubber into his jacket pocket. She quirks an eyebrow at his action but has to admit there isn’t a better option for disposal at the moment. 

“You felt human, anyway.”

“You felt Time Lady,” he teases and just like that, she knows they’ll be okay. 

“Right, let’s get a move on. I still want to talk to my dad.”

“Parallel dad, Rose, you—oh, never mind.” He begins buttoning up his shirt and she passes him back his jacket. “I know which universe your bed is in tonight,” he lilts with an eyebrow waggle and though she should probably roll her eyes, she can’t help but grin back at him.

“Oh, don’t worry; only one version of my mum is still angry with you and visiting day is only a week away. I wouldn’t want to miss _that._ She’ll be thrilled to hear about our relationship status change.”

He tugs at his ear. “Still, this universe could be nice to settle down in. Plenty of parallel planets to explore.”

Rose grins and throws open the door. “Come on then: I bet champagne glasses are emptying as we speak.”

He snorts but re-ties his bowtie and she smirks as he wrestles with his trousers in the seat. 

“Plus one!” he yells, still seated in the open-doored van as she’s walking back into the mansion. 

She turns back. “What?”

“You’re my plus one. And I’m yours. Always have been.” She’s about to say something sweet back to him when his affectionate smile turns smug. “Also, _just_ a suggestion mind you, you might want to consider finding a new pair of tights.”

Looking down, she startles at the long rip from crotch to ankle on the inside of both legs. 

“Think I saw some extras in the back of this van, here,” he comments casually, buttoning up his wrist cuffs, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that belies it all. “Want me to help you look?”

Oh, god. Fresh wetness begins trickling down the inside of her thigh.

“Probably for the best,” she agrees, equally nonchalant even as she’s rubbing her legs together. 

“Climb in; I’ll be right behind you.”


End file.
